


Carpe Diem

by iPlaySports



Series: Magmer (Original) [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, F/F, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Friendship, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:41:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27942422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iPlaySports/pseuds/iPlaySports
Summary: Maggie Manger thought high school was gonna be simple. As long as she stays safe and makes the right decisions, everything will be fine. But what happens when someone shows up and shows you life with risk? What if someone shows you that you weren't really living? What if you fall in love?Or Summer shows Maggie what it's like to make the Risk Factor of Life her bitch.
Relationships: Margaret "Maggie" Manger/ Summer Sanchez, Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Series: Magmer (Original) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2039697
Kudos: 2





	1. Convenire

**Author's Note:**

> Hello AO333333333. I'm gonna try and update regularly but I never know when inspo is gonna hit so enjoy!

You know that iconic record-scratch sound effect that’s followed by the phrase “You’re probably wondering how I got here?” Yeah. That’s exactly what Margaret Manger is experiencing right now.

Maggie has been- unconsciously- wishing for this moment for  _ weeks _ . If she were honest, these past few months of just-under-the-surface hate and annoyance could only have led to this moment.

Right here. In the locker room. With  _ her. _

Okay, so you’re probably like “No, seriously. How did you get here?” In fact, you probably don’t even know where ‘here’ is. 

To answer the second question, ‘here’ is in the North Silkton girl’s locker room on February 14th, 2019. 

To answer the first question, well… we are gonna need to back up a little.

\--

_ Sophomore Year (North Silkton HS 2017) _

Maggie  _ hated  _ Spanish. Okay, that’s not 100% true. She loves the language. Some people can make it sound so good and easy. But, she  _ hates  _ her teacher. She doesn’t even know how Senor Hashmore was hired. He can’t teach, has the worst faux-accent, and barely knows enough about the language to teach a Level 2 class. 

The pale-skinned girl mentally sighs and resigns herself to signing up for another year of student-tutor sessions, offered by the language department. She wished she could just switch out, but she can’t without risking losing the one class she is looking forward to: Creative Writing. 

Everyone has one talent. One thing you excel at. Now, that doesn’t mean you can’t be good-ish at other things. But, there’s always that  _ one  _ thing you can do marginally better than anyone. For Magaret Manger, that thing is writing.

And it’s not just one type of writing, it’s all writing. Persuasive, fantasy, journalism, fanfiction, and even  _ erotica  _ if she wanted to. (Which she does indulge in… occasionally.) It’s not even just a hobby, it’s her passion. 

There is one thing Maggie wants to do with her life. 

She wants to write.

And that is why, under no circumstances, come hell or high water, will Maggie give up creative writing with Mrs. Cupid-Harris.

Which she will be getting ready to go to in 3… 2… 1…

*RING*

As her classmates start gathering their things, Maggie is already up and out the door. Throwing a monotonous ‘adios’ over her shoulder, she makes her way to the back of the building, toward the trailers. Maggie feels the slow grin spread across her face, rapidly clicking her favorite blue pen, as she makes her way to the last row of mobile classrooms. 

Upon entering the classroom, she nods in acknowledgment to the teacher sitting behind the large desk, before finding her way to her unofficially official seat. As she slides into the seat, she catalogs the other students in the room. A gaggle of popular kids, here just to say they took it. A couple of emos, probably here to right ridiculously angsty stories about the government. A few people who look like they truly don’t want to be there, complete with ‘this is not my scene’ looks on their faces. There are a few people from last year she recognizes and gives them a small smile and nod. 

It’s customary for the ones with at least a year under their belt to have a fellow first-year classmate to mentor, show them the ropes. One of the older girls, Jenna, nods her head towards the new group as if to say ‘ _ see anyone you like.’  _ Maggie just shrugs, she just assumed she would take whoever was left or approached her. She did hope that she would be able to get by with not having a mentee, but there seemed to be 8 new kids to the experienced kids 9 so the odds seemed slim. The bell rang signaling the start of the last block of the day and Mrs. CH stood to introduce herself to the class. 

“Hello, everyone,” she starts cheerfully, “my name is Mrs. Cupid-Harris, But you can call me Mrs. CH. Welcome to Creative Wri-” She was cut off by pounding footsteps on the wooden platform outside. 

Everyone looked to the shut door, expecting a knock, but the footsteps continued past.

“Okay, then. As I was saying: Welcome to Creative Writing,” the taller teacher moves back toward the projector to pull up the introduction presentation. “My name is Mrs. Cupid-Harris, but y’all can call me Mrs. C-H if that’s too much. But, please, do not call me Mrs. ‘Chuh’ or ‘Cha.’ I’m not a-”

_ *Knock Knock Knock* _

Mrs. C-H looks toward the door, slightly disgruntled at being interrupted again, and nods for a kid sitting near the door to open it. The kid-  _ David _ ?- opens the door to reveal the late student.

Time seemed to slow as Maggie takes in the girl that has just stepped into the classroom. The girl  _ breezes  _ into the room, giving off an air of confidence that makes her enviously tanned, caramel-colored skin glow. Her body is all long lines and soft curves, with the hair to match. Though, her dark brown locks are pulled back into two loose french braids falling down to just above her waist. Maggie can feel her hopes rising as she notes the cuffed dark-wash jeans that are ripped in some places and  _ paint-stained(?) _ in others and the cyan and gray flannel tied around her waist. The ensemble is completed with a simple black t-shirt and half a dozen hand-braided bracelets crowding her right wrist.

Deep brown eyes scan the room as her, rather breathless, voice asks if this is Creative Writing 101. Maggie’s own breath hitches the moment The Girl’s eyes meet hers. She doesn’t need to be looking at the taller girl to feel the once over that takes in Maggie’s rough ensemble. (If she had known that  _ she  _ was gonna walk in today, Maggie would’ve put on more than worn black jeans and her dark blue Silkton Sooners hoodie, okay?) And she certainly can’t ignore the slight approving nod The Girl gives her before reluctantly breaking the rather intense eye-contact to look towards the teacher. 

Her teacher is probably reprimanding her for being late and telling her to be on time tomorrow, but Maggie can’t focus on that. Her brain is stubbornly analyzing and reanalyzing The Nod. Maggie knows she’s not that attractive. She’s ‘cute’ and ‘adorable,’ but Nod worthy? Hell no. Especially not compared to the majestically, amazing, super hot, probably smells like cinnamon rolls, beautiful  _ specimen  _ that is making the little lesbian that lives on Maggie’s shoulder have a spaz-attack.

However, her inner panic is cut short as The Girl slides into the seat behind her, setting her bag beside the seat with a soft thump. Maggie feels a tap on her shoulder, so she takes a deep breath before turning around. 

_ Yeah, that breath was useless  _ is the last coherent thought the paler girl has before her brain short circuits. The Girl is currently leaning across the desk, putting her close enough that Maggie could probably count each of the freckles on and around her nose. The Girl leans her weight onto her left arm and stucks out her right hand across the short distance between them. Maggie takes the proffered hand.

“Summer. Summer Sanchez.”

“Summer…”

“Wait. Your name is Summer, too?”

“What? No. I mean… Your name is Summer, not me.”

“Oh… So, what  _ is  _ your name?”

“Right. Um… It’s Maggie? Maggie Manger.”

“Nice to meet you, Manger.”

“You as well. I-”

“Ahem!”

Both girls freeze and look toward their teacher apologetically. Summer mutters a quiet ‘ _ Sorry’ _ before sitting back in her seat. Maggie sighs and turns toward the front.

“Okay. As a sort of ice breaker, you all will be telling a story- your story. You will come up to the front and give an oral presentation about who you are. There are no rules. It can be a narrative, poem, song, anything. Just be yourself.” She pauses to let the assignment sink in. “Summer. Do you mind going first?”

“Of course, not,” Summer stands and walks to the front of the room, “Can I start?”

“Whenever you are ready.”

Summer faces the room and immediately connects eyes with Maggie. “This is a story about fear. But, it’s also about hope and how all things dark come to light.”

With those few words, Maggie can feel the change in the air. The kind of energy that only happens when everyone knows that something amazing is about to happen. 

And it did.

Summer is a marvelous storyteller. She had the whole class in the palm of her hand. In a matter of minutes, she shared everything. Maggie learned of her highs and lows. Waiting with bated breath for the next words. 

Words that, ultimately, meant nothing. Everything was an analogy. For as much as Maggie thought she knew, everything was still a mystery. Maggie didn’t know about the ocean that drowned her, but also kept her afloat. She didn’t know what tree only bent at the toughest winds, but snapped at the peck of a hummingbird. She didn’t know what the wardrobe was that she was forced out of, but also hid in. (Okay, she probably knew, but she was never one to assume.)

But she wanted to.

Maggie wanted to know everything. And that scared her. 

_ Curiosity killed the cat… _

Summer gives a little bow upon finishing and moves back to her seat. The taller girl leans forward and speaks into Maggie’s ear, her breath tickling the pale girl’s neck.

“Ya know, in case it wasn’t clear, I was the co-chair of the GSA at my old school… and not as an ally.”

... _ but satisfaction brought it back. _

“Good to know."

And with that conclusion, Maggie knew she was  _ fucked. _


	2. Scintillam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn a little more about Summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> scintillam- spark in latin

Maggie will be the first to admit that she is not the most trusting person. As a natural skeptic and curiosity-driven person, it takes a lot for someone to earn her trust. 

Just ask River Hewit. 

River has been Maggie’s best friend since… forever. Okay, that’s totally a lie they met like 4 years ago and Maggie called them an acquaintance for a better part of a year after. But sometime between mandatory gym class and a mutual obsession with Ikea cinnamon rolls, they became inseparable.

So much so that River was the first (and until recently, only) person Maggie came out to officially. And vise-versa. Although, River’s was a little… heavier.

Because River is not River to anyone except Maggie and a few of their online friends. Other’s call River, Sammie. Short for Samantha. And use she/her pronouns, rather than their preferred they/them.

And it irks both of them to no end. Because it’s not like River hasn’t come out. They  _ have. _ It’s just no one in this hicktown seems to give a shit. Not the students. Not the teachers.

Not their parents. 

The only people that don’t blatantly disrespect River are: Maggie, her family, and Jason, the guy that has the Tuesday night shift at the arcade.  _ And Summer, _ Maggie’s inner thought derailer adds.

Ah, yes. Summer. 

Summer was officially introduced to River after their first Creative Writing class together. After school let out, Summer patiently waited for Maggie to gather her things before heading out. Upon exiting the trailer area, Summer tugged on Maggie’s sleeve to ask her to wait and pulled out a well-worn skateboard hiding in the bushes. Summer shrugged a little bashful as Maggie smiled.  _ Of course, she would skate,  _ Maggie muses.

The girls chat lightly as Maggie leads them to her car in the student parking lot. Maggie is a little worried about Summer’s reaction. 

Maggie’s family is… well off? Yeah, that’s one way to say it. River would say that she is ‘rich as fuck’ but River’s opinion has always leaned in favor of the dramatics. Her dad is one of the leading nervous system surgeons in all of Iowa so, make what you will of that. Her mom is a stay-at-home-mom that makes jewelry as a hobby. But, her grandparents were super rich from an oil mine in Texas, so make what you will of that.

Okay, maybe Maggie is a little rich. But, she’s not like one of those white girls that are all in your face with it. The car, however, is a very big indicator.

Maggie expects a scoff or an ‘oh come on,’ not a low whistle and a short laugh that comes from Summer when she pulls out her keys to unlock the doors on her  Volvo XC90. 

“Sweet car, I-” Summer cuts herself off, her face colored with confusion. Maggie stops her awestruck staring to look at the vehicle.

The vehicle that River just walked up to.

With flowers.

And a fucking  _ teddy bear. _

Maggie knows that her cheeks aren’t red just because of the early August heat.

“Hey, MnM, who’s the friend?”

“Sanchez. Summer Sanchez. We met in Creative Writing.” Maggie is infinitely grateful that Summer is more composed than she is because she doesn’t even know if she can speak right now. To be honest, with meeting Summer and all, she had forgotten about River’s odd choice of welcome back to school tradition.

River takes Summer’s hand in a firm handshake. “So, you write?”

“Among other things.”  _ Ever mysterious,  _ Maggie’s inner monologue sighs wistfully.

“Nice to meet you. For a second I thought you were trying to steal my girl.” 

Summer freezes. Looking guiltily between the two of them, she takes a cautious step back, away from both students. Realizing that their joke wasn’t received as, well, a joke, River is quick to try and recover the situation. Maggie can only watch in utter horror at the absolute trainwreck of a conversation that unfolds in front of her.

“Oh, I didn’t know. You guys are-”

“NO! I mean we are-

“It’s fine. Well, she didn’t say anything so I-”

“We’re friends. Super close but-”

“So, you aren’t toget-”

“Nope. I don't like-”

“Are you sure? Because I can-”

“I’m sure. Girls aren’t really my speed.”

“Ah. Okay,” Maggie takes note of how her posture relaxes minutely.  _ Like a predator no longer threatened. _ “If you don’t mind me asking, what is your speed?”

“Um... Guys? Mostly. It’s a learning process. But, I’m non-binary, as well,” Maggie has known River long enough to notice the slight worry that was tacked on with the last sentence. 

“That’s awesome. They/them pronouns?” At River’s happy nod, she continues. “I use she/they myself actually, so it would be kinda hypocritical for me not to respect yours.”

River’s pride comes off of them in spades. Maggie was so happy for them. River deserves to be accepted.

\--

From that day on, they develop a routine. Everyday Summer walks Maggie to her car, they meet with River and chat for a while. They say goodbye and Summer rolls off while Maggie takes River home. 

Summer even somehow found out where they ate lunch (in the empty classroom at the end of the Honors Math hall) and drops by at least two days a week.

“Do you ever wonder where she goes?” River takes another grape from the spread of snacks they call lunch.

Maggie was so lost in thought (I’ll give you one guess as to who about) that she didn’t understand the question at first. “What do you mean?”

“I  _ mean _ , Summer is kind of mysterious, ya know? Do you ever wonder where she goes? Or what she does? What if she’s…” River drops their voice to a conspiratory whisper, “... a spy?”

Maggie, who had leaned in, snorts and shoves back a laughing River to respond. “No. She’s just secretive. It’s okay for people to keep their personal lives personal. Just because we share everything, doesn’t mean others have to as well.”

“Okay. Okay. No need to get defensive,” Maggie backhands their arm, “or  _ violent.” _

“I’ll ask her later.”

\--

“So…”

Summer looked up from where she was fiddling with her board. Summer had been called out of class, but somehow managed to make it back to meet Maggie at the stoop outside of the trailer. She settles down next to her.

“I have a question.”  _ Smooth, Manger.  _ “One you don’t have to answer, but a question nonetheless.”

Summer gave her a half-smile, a little uncertainty in her eyes but not her voice when she replies. “Shoot.”

“What do you do after school that you can never hang out?” At Summer’s questioning eyebrow, she elaborates. “I mean, we offer for you to come with us to study at River’s but you always brush us off. Usually with,” Maggie forces a little southern twang into her voice, “ _ Nah, I’m good. I have the stuff to do and the people to see _ .”

“Okay. I’m not  _ that _ southern. I hardly think living in a highly populated city in North Carolina made that much of a speech impression. And secondly, It’s not a lie. I do have stuff to do. It’s just…” Summer trails off, leaving Maggie more confused.

“Embarrassing?”

Summer snorts a little at that. “No, I’m not embarrassed about it. It’s personal.”  _ Told ya, River.  _ Summer’s jaw sets in determination like she’s come to a conclusion. “C’mon.”

Before she knows it, Maggie is being hauled to her feet and is pulled across campus. At first, Maggie thinks that they are going to the auto mechanics classrooms, but that Summer makes a turn behind the library and they are suddenly at the art wings back entrance. Summer pulls out a key separate from her main key chain and unlocks the door, pulling them into a dark hallway. Summer flicks on a light after they enter a smaller room and steps to the side to let Maggie in.

“Welcome to the place where stuff is done.”

Maggie takes in the room with mild surprise. Sure, she could have guessed that Summer was an artist. Her style, aura,  _ paint-stained clothes.  _ But, why is she hiding it?

“I know. It’s kind of stupid, but I feel like my art leaves me too vulnerable. I feel like the emotions I put onto a canvas are too raw for others to see. They aren’t processed enough for others to understand. Hell, sometimes I don’t even understand. I don’t even take an art class here. Mr. Keating’s brother used to work with my dad, so he allows me to come here to work after hours. I find it freeing, though less scary that when there are other students.”

And Maggie understands perfectly. There’s a reason Maggie hasn’t turned in a single poem to any of her teachers. They delve too deeply into what Maggie is terrified of showing to the world. So, yeah, it makes perfect sense.

But, she doesn’t tell Summer that. Instead, she smiles softly and nods. 

“Would you like to see something?” Summer asks apprehensively. “Not an old work because I’ve been kinda off my game lately, but I can paint something for you… now?”

“Um… sure. I mean if you’re sure.”

Summer laughs, nerves seemingly dissipated. “Of course, I’m sure. I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.” She moves around the room methodically, picking up a fresh canvas, a few bottles of paint, and two brushes.

She empties her arms on a table, motioning to the stool next to her for Maggie to sit, before organizing her materials. Grabbing the washed pallet from underneath the seat, she squirts neat blobs of color around the circle. 

“This is called action painting,” she glances over at Maggie and rolls her eyes. She drags Maggie’s stool so that their thighs are pressed together under the table. “Also known as: glorified finger painting.”

Maggie watches as Summer dips her fingers into a dark blue color are starts sweeping her hand across the canvas with no real purpose. Some lines are short and straight, others long and curvy. She fills in some gaps and leaves others blank. Some lines are heavy with color, others barely there. When her hand runs out of color, she dips into the light purple-  _ lavender?-  _ and begins again. 

“There are no real rules to action painting,” Summer’s voice breaks Maggie out of her hypnotized stupor. “You just think about one particular thing and let the paint manifest itself as that thing. It can be a song, place, thing, memory, or…” She pauses, both hand and speech, but only for a second before continuing, “... person.”

Maggie’s voice hitches in her throat as she breaks focus from Summer’s hand to her face. Summer’s eyes are set determinedly on the paint in front of her, cheeks flushed slightly and it’s not warm enough in her to blame it on that.

They’ve only known each other for- wow- 4 months. August to November. She’s pretty sure she knows the answer but she needs to hear it from Summer herself.

“What are you thinking of now?”

There’s a heavy silence. It feels like hours but it’s only a matter of seconds before...

“You.”

Without another word, Summer takes Maggie’s hand and presses her outstretched palm into the middle of the waves of blue and purple streaked with white. And they the sit there, Summer’s hand pressing Maggie’s into the drying paint. Maggie looks up to find the other girl already looking right back at her. The air around them crackling with tension. Brown eyes looking directly into pale grey for a second too long.

However, the tension with broken too soon. Summer’s eyes widen slightly with panic before she clears her throat, nearly falling out of the chair to create distance between the two of them. She lifts Maggie’s hand out of the art careful as to not disturb the paint. 

“I- There’s a sink in the back with hand soap if you want to clean up,” Summer speaks quickly, eyes darting nervously.

Summer gathers the used supplies quickly to the big industrial sink in the front as Maggie makes her way to the back. Maggie can hear Summer muttering to herself as she turns on the spray.

As Maggie is drying her hands, she notices how Summer has put everything away (but has not washed her own hands), except for a single brush. She holds it over the corner of the picture, brush side up, before nodding decisively and scribbling in the corner. Maggie walks up carefully, trying to see what was written, but it distracted by Summer’s voice.

“Oh hey, so you can have it and it’s getting kinda late so I should get home,” Summer avoids all eye contact with the other girl. “Right. Home. And you should too.”

“Right,” Maggie suddenly feels awkward. “Are- are you sure? You want me to keep it?”

“Yeah. I gotta go and it’s awkward to carry it when I’m riding, ya know?” Summer attempts at a smile but it ends up a grimace. 

“Oh yeah, I’ll just…” Maggie trails off glancing at the painting, “See you around?”

“See you tomorrow, Maggie.”

And with that, she turns and leaves. Maggie can hear the front door closing and Summer pushing off across the bus lot.

She finally looks at the painting in full, taking in the sweeps of color and handprint. Her eyes are drawn to the corner and she gasps quietly. The signature is a slightly sloppy  _ SS+MM  _ scrunched into the corner. 

And if she has a stupidly, dopey smile on her face for the rest of the day? Can you blame her?

**Author's Note:**

> Comment? Kudo? Prompt? What will happen next? Idk you tell me! 
> 
> Love you alllll


End file.
